


It's a Wonderful Wife

by JeanGraham



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 05:49:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20501930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanGraham/pseuds/JeanGraham
Summary: Kirk gets a lesson in reverse sexism from a matriarchal planet.





	It's a Wonderful Wife

It's a Wonderful Wife

* * *

by Jean Graham

Macbeth, James Kirk decided, had definitely had an easier time of it.

Voloron's female triumvirate high council hadn't cast any spells on him as yet, but he half-expected that to come next. Well, he mused, at least these particular 'weird ladies' were far from ugly. Quite the contrary, in fact.

"We need no male-governed *glyphx*..." Sirrah proclaimed from her left-most spot on the council dais. The translator sputtered and hissed on the last word, indicating that she'd used a term it failed to recognize. "Of what use is it, this 'Federation'?"

Kirk cleared his throat, trying his best to adopt a tone that would have suited his instructors in Starfleet Academy's Diplomacy 101. "The Federation doesn't govern," he explained patiently. "But it will help you to share knowledge of other worlds, other cultures. And it can aid your economic interests in the quadrant, protect your borders--"

"We have no borders," Nalii interrupted from the right end of the platform. Blood-red jewels glinted on her spotted forehead. "Borders are male-drawn things. Foment *glyphx* wars." The translator burbled, skipping another word.

"We do not have wars," Farus declared more pompously from her center position. "That is a _male_ province."

"Well, there _was_ that little skirmish last year over breeding rights to Prince Hador-ab-Shaal," Nalii reminisced with a smile, and looked at each of the others inquiringly. "Would you call that a war?"

While they launched into a prolonged disagreement over that, Kirk tried to decide just how much intergalactic dirty laundry he ought to air here. No sense in frightening them away. On the other hand, he needed to be honest about possible threats from other species. Federation survey reports indicated that Voloron had long ago developed intersystem flight and had recently built ships capable of interplanetary travel. No transporters or replicators, but then, every planet didn't develop along the same technological timeline.

"I refer to your planet as a whole," Kirk interrupted the impassioned debate over Prince Hador-Whatsit. "You've had space flight for several years; you should know that there are races in the quadrant who excel at war, at invasion. They _would_ seek to conquer your world. The Federation affords its member planets shared knowledge and resources as well as protection."

Sirrah scoffed. "One governor is like another."

"Male province," Farus repeated.

"It cannot understand," Nalii complained to the others. "It _is_, after all, a male of its species."

"Ladies..."

"Bellicose," Sirrah snorted.

"Ladies?"

"We should _make_ it understand, then," Farus declared. "Use the _Fel_. Show it *glyphx*." The translator vocalized Fel, Voloron's magic-prone religion, but choked on the final word.

"There _is_ a suitable plane," said Nalii.

"Yes," the others agreed in unison.

"Ladies?" Kirk's plea fell on unhearing ears. The trio had lapsed into some sort of trance, long fingers steepled, eyes closed, forehead jewels glowing softly in the subdued light. The captain of the Enterprise gave vent to a sigh. Five days he'd invested in this mission, which now looked like a wash. Well, he'd told Starfleet any number of times that he was a soldier, not a diplomat. When had they ever listened? Not that his visit here hadn't been enjoyable. The Volorons had extended every courtesy, plied him with food, drink, and... well... other favors. That very lovely and rather aggressive attaché, Serine, had proven particularly diverting. If only his purpose here could have been accomplished as easily. Now, it seemed, he'd not only been turned down, but dismissed as well.

Turning a slow circle in the chamber, he found no one else to ask whether or not his audience was indeed at an end. So, with a shrug, he deactivated the translator, clipped it to his belt, then flipped open his communicator to the familiar squawking of tuning frequencies.

"Kirk to Enterprise."

Something hummed. Not the communicator, he realized, but something in the air around him. What _was_ that?

"Enterprise. Scott here."

The humming grew louder. It emanated from the women, he realized belatedly; three notes harmonizing into a single, melodic chord...

"Beam me up in two minutes, Scotty," he said. That would give him just enough time to get outside and around behind the building, out of sight. No point in antagonizing the already-superstitious Volorons with magically disappearing people.

The communicator frequency crackled with static as he left the building. Kirk tapped the controls lightly. "Scotty? Enterprise, come in."

A female voice he didn't recognize responded, "Bringing you up now."

Kirk hurried down an alley and out of sight of the passersby. Why hadn't Scott given him those two minutes? And who was the new transporter operator?

The whine of the energizing beam engulfed him, and in the next moment, he stood in the familiar circular chamber of the Enterprise's transporter room.

Familiar except for its occupants, anyway.

Two very lovely female engineers -- neither of whom he recognized -- stared back at him from the console.

"What happened to Mr. Scott?" he asked.

They glanced at one another. "Nothing," the one at the main control board replied. "Why?"

She wore lieutenant commander's stripes (and Kirk knew he had no such ranking female crew member), but now that he looked closely, she _did_ look familiar. "Uh... Moreau, isn't it?" he asked, stepping off the platform. He reached up to put a casual hand on the console, and blinked in confusion at the sight of his own uniform sleeve. A lieutenant's stripe? What the...?

"Will you come off it, Kirk?" the engineer smirked at him. Marlena, wasn't that her name? She'd transferred aboard just before that incident with that ion storm over Halkan, and the accident that had beamed them into the mirror uni--

Oh, no.

With a squeak, the door swept open to admit Uhura -- though not _his_ Uhura -- in officer's gold and full commander's stripes. Her upper tunic closely resembled the one she wore on his ship, but her legs were hidden by regulation black trousers.

"Captain," the other engineer addressed her, "I think he hit his head on something. Maybe Dr. Chapel should take a look at him?"

"Must be what I get for sending a boy to do a woman's job," Uhura huffed. "You have a little trouble with the Volorons, Jimmy?"

"Uh..." Kirk closed his mouth, swallowed, tried again. "Actually, they were very... uh..."

She lost patience with his efforts. "I knew this was a mistake. If this crazy, patriarchal planet hadn't demanded a male envoy..."

"Patriarchal?" Kirk echoed.

He had definitely fallen through the looking glass again -- but not by accident, and this was certainly not the same mirror universe he'd landed in before. (Just how many of those pesky things were there, anyway?) And hadn't Nalii said something about there being a suitable plane?

"Moreau," Uhura ordered, "have Dr. Chapel and Nurse McCoy report to briefing room seven. You too," she said to Kirk. "I'll meet you there, after I've had a little viewscreen chat of my own with the Volorons. Better see just how much damage you've done." She reached out and took him by the chin with a familiarity that made Kirk flinch. "_Did_ you hit your head or something? You look a little dazed."

He pulled free of her grasp, allowing his irritation to show. "I'm fine."

The other engineer chortled and said to Moreau, "Touchy lately, isn't he? You forget to give him his testosterone regulators again?"

"Shut up, Benford." Uhura threw her a searing glare and Benford snapped to attention.

"Yes, ma'am."

"And you..." The captain turned her glare on Kirk. "Report to briefing room seven, meet the medical team and wait for me there. And get your head together. I want a full report of what happened down there."

She waited. Kirk wondered what for, then shook himself and nodded dumbly. "Yes, sir... er, ma'am."

With a final warning look at the engineers, Uhura wheeled and marched out. When the door had closed, Moreau gave vent to a long sigh. "Well, you sure put your foot in _that_, Jimmy," she said.

He straightened, glared back at her. "Don't call me that. And with all due respect -- ma'am -- mind your own business." He stalked out, leaving Marlena with her mouth open.

The corridors, just as on his own Enterprise, were comfortably crowded. Here, however, nine of every ten crew members were female, and all wore, as had Uhura, loose-fitting tunics over black trousers. His own uniform, on the other hand, and that of every other male he passed, fit him with a distinctly uncomfortable snugness. Maybe he should have started that diet McCoy had harangued him about last week...

Why were all these women turning to stare at him as he passed? A few of them whispered to each other, smiled, or in one case, outright leered at him, winking as she walked by. It was almost a relief to duck into the turbolift -- except that it was already occupied by a tall and exceedingly well-endowed blonde ensign -- who proceeded to assess him thoroughly as the doors slid shut.

Kirk pretended not to notice, grasped the hand-grip and said, "Deck seven."

Her eyes raked him for the entire trip. When the turbolift stopped on deck seven, she said huskily, "I'm off shift at nineteen hundred if you'd like to stop by my cabin for a drink?"

Bristling, he turned back as the lift door opened. "Are you proposing fraternization, ensign?"

She looked taken aback for a moment, then laughed. "Since when did _you play by the book? Or is it true about you and the wife getting back together?"_

Kirk froze midway out the door, turning back to stare. Had she just said 'wife'?

"Well, go on," she said, smirking. "Run along. I suppose being the captain's ex does have its little advantages, hm?"

And she started laughing: a truly obnoxious, snorting guffaw.

If she hadn't been a woman, he just might have decked her. As it was, he turned his back on her to exit the lift car -- and jumped when, a split second before the doors closed, she reached out and pinched his backside.

He'd definitely had enough of this.

Wife? his brain echoed, incredulous. _The captain's ex? As in Captain Uhura?!_

Face crimson, he hustled down the corridor toward briefing room seven, ignoring the lewd comments and wolf-whistles from passing female crew members. Head down, he barrelled around a corner -- and ran smack into a tall, solid figure in blue.

Strong hands gripped his shoulders, pushed him a respectable distance away. "Are you quite all right, Lieutenant?"

Kirk looked up at a comfortingly familiar face. "Spock! Am I ever glad to see you!"

The Vulcan blinked, one eyebrow lifting. "Indeed. Have you a problem with which I may be of assistance? More safely negotiating ship's corridors, perhaps?"

"Er... sorry." He noted with delight that Spock still wore commander's stripes. He'd seen no other men ranking higher than lieutenant. "Spock..." He stammered for a moment, unsure how to proceed. "Tell me something. Are the women here usually so... well, so _aggressive?"_

That sent both eyebrows climbing. "Lieutenant, if you are requesting data on human sexual exploits and mating rituals, I'm afraid my information is decidedly limit--"

"No!" Kirk said a little too quickly. "No, no. I just wondered if... well, is it like this on Vulcan, too? Matriarchal, I mean?"

Spock's hands clasped behind his back. "Most of the intelligent, advanced civilizations the Federation has encountered have been matriarchal, including Vulcan. But then, you already know that. Are you certain you're all right, Lieutenant? You look pale."

"I'm fine," Kirk lied.

Spock nodded once in acknowledgment. "Then, if there is nothing more...?"

"Oh. Yes, of course." Chagrined, Kirk stepped aside to allow the first officer (was he still the first officer?) to pass, and continued on his own way to the briefing room.

When he arrived, a stern-faced Christine Chapel rose from the table to meet him, medical tricorder in hand. "It's about time you got here," she complained gruffly, and ran the whirring tricorder over his face, chest, hips, retracing the path in reverse when she'd reached his feet. "What happened down there?"

Leonard McCoy hovered subserviently at her elbow, handing her instruments that she attached to the tricorder before running it over Kirk again.

"Nothing happened," he snapped irritably. "And I'm perfectly all right." He pushed the tricorder aside, stalking past a gaping McCoy to the briefing table.

"Lieutenant," McCoy's familiar voice cautioned, "you are addressing a superior officer. The captain said--"

"I know what she said," Kirk cut him off. "But as you can see, there's nothing wrong with me. Now get out of here, both of you."

Chapel drew herself up, summarily handing the instruments back to her nurse. "Now see here, Lieutenant..."

Her reprimand was cut short by Uhura's arrival. "Doctor," the captain said curtly in greeting. "What's the problem here?"

"No problem," Chapel sniffed. "He's A-1, physically anyway. Mentally.. Well, let's just say I'm recommending a full psych-screening ASAP."

Kirk wheeled, infuriated at her implication. "I am _not_\--" he started to say, but Uhura interrupted with a commanding, "All right, that's enough. Thank you, Doctor. That will be all."

Both Chapel and McCoy cast disgusted looks in his direction before departing. Kirk ignored them. The door hadn't even finished closing, however, before Uhura's temper flared.

"Okay, let's have it. What the hell happened to you down there?"

"Happened? _Nothing_ happened. They... weren't ready to join the Federation, that's all."

"Must have been more than that. The Volorons are not only not speaking to us, they've given us a planetary hour to pack up and get out of orbit. Why?"

Kirk frowned. This did not, he hoped, coincide with events in his own universe. "I told you," he reiterated, "nothing happened. I presented the Federation's position and they turned us down. They aren't interested in being part of a... female-dominated society."

"Oh, Jimmy... I thought you could handle this!" She sighed, then without warning, moved to put her arms around him. The sudden intimacy startled him, not because he found it unpleasant by any means, but because it felt unfamiliar and thoroughly awkward.

"You know," she said, apparently not noticing his discomfort, "I pulled a lot of strings to get you into Starfleet, and then assigned to my ship. Husbands aren't usually permitted on their wives' ships. Not even ex-wives' ships." She kissed him, both aggressive and passionate in her attack, but he permitted the embrace only briefly before bringing both arms up to push her away.

"This isn't getting our job done," he grumbled. "You have a ship to run. Run it."

"Temper, temper," she clucked with a condescension that made him bristle. "After the mess you just made of things on Voloron, that may be easier said than done."

Kirk glowered back at her, disgusted. "You're the captain," he said shortly. "Think of something. Deal with it."

"Oh, I will." She was obviously amused at what she viewed as petulance on his part. "I'll talk to their weird-boy tribunal again, and we'll work something out." She reached up and patted his cheek patronizingly. "Don't worry your pretty little head about it, Jimmy. I'm sure you did your best."

Before he could slap her hand away, she swung round and headed for the door. In the same moment, an alarm began shrieking, and all hell broke loose aboard the Enterprise. The intercoms all started babbling at once before Uhura reached the one on the wall.

"Bridge, this is the captain. What's going on up there?"

"The Volorons have just powered up their planetary defense systems," Spock's calm tones replied, "and targeted the Enterprise. I am raising shields."

"I'm on my way."

She left the briefing room at a dead run. Kirk didn't bother to ask permission; he simply kept pace right behind her, thankful that she raised no objection when he joined her in the turbolift.

The doors finally parted, spilling them onto a chaotic bridge. The red alert klaxon continued its wail, personnel bustled back and forth, console controls blipped and squealed.

"Maintain red alert, but kill the alarm," Uhura ordered, slipping into the captain's chair with practiced ease. Kirk hung back, loitering near the railing and already feeling consummately useless. The alarm stopped shrilling.

"Captain..." Kirk turned automatically at the address, surprised to discover _Lieutenant_ Scott seated behind him, addressing Uhura from the communications station. "I've been monitoring some of the Voloron communications channels. Ma'am... well, it seems as though our golden-haired Federation envoy..." He glanced accusingly at Kirk. "...accepted the... er... conjugal advances of their... well, 'ceremonial concubine.' In Voloron culture, ma'am, that's tantamount to a declaration of war."

Uhura turned reproving eyes on Kirk. "You didn't."

"But..." he dissembled, blushing, "but she--"

"Didn't you read _any_ of the preliminary sociological reports?" she scathed. "The ceremonial concubine is a test. You're _supposed_ to say no!"

In point of fact, he _had_ read the reports -- his reports -- and they'd said nothing at all about this particular little cultural quirk. "I never--" he started to say, but Lt. Scott interrupted him.

"The Voloron high council is hailing us, ma'am."

"On screen."

Three male Voloron faces materialized on the main screen. They were burly, bearded, and considerably less attractive than their female counterparts. They were also what Dr. McCoy would have termed 'royally pissed off.'

"Federation! We gave you one hour to leave our world," one of them rumbled through the translator. "Why are you still here?"

"Testosterone poisoning," Kirk heard Uhura mutter under her breath. Aloud, she said, "Our apologies, Councilman Farus. There seems to have been an unfortunate misunderstanding. Please allow us to assure you, the affront was unintentional."

"Mph," Farus grunted. "Very polite, I'm sure. However, apologies are not sufficient in this instance. We will require... satisfaction."

"Uh-huh." Uhura rose and walked slowly toward the screen. "And what would that entail, exactly?"

"Send the envoy Kirk back down to us. We will deal with him according to the laws of *glyphx.*"

Well, Kirk thought, _some_ things hadn't changed. The translators in this universe weren't perfect, either.

"_How_ would you deal with him, Councilman?" Uhura was asking the scowling face on the viewscreen.

Scowling himself, Kirk stalked down into the navigation well, coming to stand at her shoulder and ignoring her glare of annoyance. He didn't like the tone this conversation was taking at all.

"In the purification chamber," Farus replied. "If he is genuinely innocent, then the heat will not harm him and you may have him back. If he is not innocent... well, then you may have him back as well. Of course, he will be reduced to a rather small pile of ashes..." The jewels on Farus' forehead flashed in the light as he shrugged.

"Now wait a minute--" Kirk started to say, but the captain stepped deliberately in front of him, waving him to silence with one hand.

"And if I agree to this?"

"_What?_" Kirk squeaked, and was again waved away.

"You'll call off your attack on the Enterprise?"

"We shall have no further argument." Farus smiled like a large, bearded Arcturian were-cat who had just successfully devoured the Great Bird of the Galaxy.   


"I'll take that as a yes." Uhura smiled too. "Very well, Councillor. We agree to your terms. Enterprise out." She motioned sharply for Scott to cut the transmission, and immediately, the screen image dissolved back to Voloron's deceptively peaceful orb.

Kirk had to maneuver his way around the command chair to face Uhura once again. "Don't I have any say in this?" he grumped. "Or do you always turn over your crew members for every politically expedient little sacrificial barbecue that comes along?"

Seeming to ignore him for the moment, Captain Uhura glanced toward the helm. "Lt. Rand," she said, "you have the conn. As to _your_ questions..." she told Kirk, "...no, and only when I have to. Mr. Spock, escort Lt. Kirk to the shuttle bay. I'll meet you there in fifteen minutes." And with that, she marched off the bridge.

* * *

She had something up her sleeve. That had to be it. It's what _he_ would have done: come up with something thoroughly ingenious to convince the aliens they'd won. How had that anonymous twentieth century philosopher put it? If you couldn't dazzle 'em with brilliance, baffle 'em with... something-or-other.

The bejeweled triumvirate met them at the landing site and led them in stone-faced silence to a small, squat concrete structure sitting just beside the council chambers. On the female-dominated version of Voloron, the building hadn't been there at all.

"The purification may now begin," Sirrah's male counterpart intoned. He and Nalii took up ceremonial residence on either side of the heavy door, and chanting a Voloron incantation, pulled the portal open to reveal an empty room, its walls and ceiling lined with antiquated heating coils.

Kirk was no historian, but he knew an old-fashioned convection oven when he saw one. "Uh..." He turned on Spock and Uhura, the latter of whom still held an oversized package she'd carried from the shuttle. "Are you sure we can't find some other way to...?"

"You must be brave, Lieutenant," Spock said gravely.

"Yes," Uhura agreed. "And rest assured, your noble sacrifice in the name of the Federation will never be forgotten."

She handed him the bulky package with dramatic flair. "We salute your bravery, James Kirk."

He'd scarcely taken hold of the large-but-oddly-lightweight bundle when Nalii snatched it from his grasp with a suspicious snort.

"What is this?"

"A ceremony treasured by _our_ people," Spock explained in carefully measured words. "We never sacrifice anyone without it."

The high council chorused a single inquisitive syllable, which the translator in Spock's hand dutifully rendered as, "Eh?" Then they proceeded as a group to rip open the thin paper covering the bundle. Their efforts shortly uncovered a blue and white, regulation-folded, standard-issue blanket emblazoned with Starfleet's emblem and the neatly stenciled legend 'U.S.S. ENTERPRISE.'

"What trick is this?" Farus growled, and flipped the blanket savagely until all the folds had been thoroughly shaken loose and proved to hide nothing.

"Oh, no trick," Uhura assured him sweetly. "The ceremonial blanket is an extremely revered Earth tradition. We must take it with us into the next life, or we can't possibly achieve eternal rest."

"That's right," Kirk chimed in, and with a you're-both-completely-balmy look at his superior officers, he snatched back the blanket and began industriously rolling it up. "We can't even consider dying without one -- if we can help it. Could we get on with this, please? I've got some very important people to meet over on the other side."

The Voloron trio hustled him into the oversized oven and without further ado, slammed the door. Kirk heard the locking mechanism cycle shut, immediately followed by a low hum as the heating coils fired up and began to glow an ominous red.

"I don't suppose," he said to himself as he placed the 'ceremonial' blanket on the floor, "it would do any good to click my shoes together and start reciting 'There's no place like home'?"

The temperature climbed rapidly, making his already-too-tight uniform cling to him damply. He'd just begun to suspect that maybe Captain Uhura hadn't had anything up her sleeve after all when a familiar tingling sensation overtook him -- and then he once again face to face with a smirking Lt. Commander Marlena Moreau.

"Nice fit, Jimmy," she leered, looking him up and down. "Remind me to rescue you from certain death by steam bath more often."

"Bridge to transporter room," Scott's voice said over the intercom. "Is Lt. Kirk back aboard yet?"

"Newly and duly snatched from the very jaws of death," she replied.

"Aye. Well, tell him to report to the bridge. The captain and Mr. Spock just called to say they're on their way back."

"Will do."

But before she could relay the order, Kirk hurried out of the transporter room. He'd had about all of Marlena's jeers he could take for one day.

The shuttle docked fifteen minutes later. When the captain and Spock arrived on the bridge, the former promptly reclaimed her command chair from Lt. Rand while the latter approached Kirk and handed him an ornate jar adorned with Voloron designs and symbols.

"This, I believe," the Vulcan said dourly, "belongs to you. In fact, as far as the Volorons are concerned, it _is_ you." He then went to his station without offering any further explanation.

Kirk carried the artifact down to the captain's chair. "A small pile of ashes?" he surmised. "Courtesy, I assume, of one Starfleet issue 'ceremonial blanket'?"

"Call it a souvenir," she said.

"You might have let me know what you were planning," he suggested, not entirely without rancor.

"What, and miss all the fun? Besides, you had to be convincing."

"Well, just because the Volorons never developed a transporter doesn't mean they couldn't figure out--"

"Captain," Spock interrupted, "Voloron's planetary defense systems are powering down. Targeting computers offline."

Uhura nodded. "Good. I think we'll report that Voloron isn't quite ready to join the Federation just yet. Lt. Rand, take us out of orbit. Ensign Seib, set a course for Starbase Six." A chorus of "Yes, ma'am's" answered her, and the power hum of impulse engines coming on line began vibrating the deck under Kirk's feet.

He wandered back to the railing, pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing his eyes. He had a whale of a headache, and felt suddenly incredibly dizzy.

"Are you all right?" A hand touched his arm, and Uhura's voice, soothing now instead of angry, said, "Captain?"

Kirk's eyes flew open. The first thing he saw, to his delight, was his own rank restored to his uniform sleeve. The second was Uhura draped in her customary red tunic. He almost hugged her, but restrained himself at the last moment.

"Fine," he said. "Just... tired."

"Captain, what...?"

She was pointing inquisitively at the decorated jar he still held. "Oh. Nothing," he muttered. "Just my ceremonial blanket."

"Your--?"

"Captain Kirk..." He looked up to see three comfortingly familiar female faces on the viewscreen. "Come back," Farus was intoning imperiously, "when you have learned something _more_ about equality."

The screen dimmed, became Voloron's slowly rotating image.

"Well," Scott's voice said, from its rightful place at the engineering console this time, "I guess that's that."

"For the moment," Kirk agreed. "Mr. Sulu, take us out of orbit. Mr. Chekov, set a course for Starbase Six."

"Aye-aye, sir," they said together.

Kirk headed for the turbolift. "I'll be in my quarters for an hour, composing a report to Starfleet Command." _And taking something for a headache_, he added silently.

He turned back from the lift door. "Lt. Su--" He caught himself, glanced from his waiting helmsman to his communications officer, and said instead, "Lt. Uhura, you have the conn."

She looked surprised, but smiled and said, "Yes, sir," moving instantly to the command chair to try it on for size.

Kirk watched her take it with an entirely new respect for her abilities, then walked into the turbolift, confident that he'd left the ship in capable hands.

Very capable hands indeed.

Tucking his souvenir under one arm, he left the bridge.   


\- End -

See all of my fanfic and links to my pro fiction at <http://jeangraham.20m.com.>


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